


Alone

by Penndragon27



Series: Penn's Midnight Fics [8]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Waiting for Arthur, beautiful art by @jampaintsphotos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penndragon27/pseuds/Penndragon27
Summary: Merlin waits.





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Based on art by [@jampaintsphotos](http://jampaintsphotos.tumblr.com/) because it's beautiful and amazing and y'all should check out all her work <3

The street was crowded and merchants were shouting. Armor clanged as soldiers tried to keep order. The people loved the queen, but she was not Arthur.

 

The queen hugged him when he returned, sad he couldn’t tell her, disappointed he had failed. Not that she said it.

 

Gaius hugged him and had his favourite meal waiting. He couldn’t eat it.

 

Percival put a hand on his shoulder, told him about Gwaine. He nodded in understanding before turning away, not daring to speak.

 

Knights and servants approached him all day, asking after him, about the king. He ignored them all.

 

He just wanted to be alone.

 

***

 

Camelot was gone and only mentioned in legend. Some foretold the day Arthur would return. Some laughed at the false prophets and Seers.

 

He laughed, too, because Seers were gone. Dragons were gone. Sorcerers were few and far between. Despite Guinevere’s work, the world was slow to change. Magic was foreign and confusing. In other words — evil.

 

His magic was also hidden, all too similar to before. Tripping and falling so people would call him an idiot. Laughed at for having no skills, his clumsiness making them forget he was a physician.

 

They didn’t forget when the Black Plague swept through, turning to him for help. Franco caught the illness and he did his best to heal him. His best meant magic. His  _ best _ meant being reported and hunted.

 

Franco lived, but never thanked him.

 

Maybe he was better off alone.

 

***

 

It was the height of art, the height of reason. Some thought it was the Golden Age. He didn’t. He was still waiting for it to arrive. The age when eyes were free to turn gold without fear.

 

He grew a beard and donned a robe. He still looked young, though. He still felt young.

 

William said he was old, if you looked into his eyes. William said he looked as though he had seen lifetimes, not mere decades. William asked to write a sonnet to those eyes.

 

Shakespeare wrote five sonnets that wouldn’t survive. Only they would read them, but he didn’t care.

 

William wrote them for him and him alone.

 

***

 

War was hell. There were no swords or shields, only smoke and bullets. He could hardly breathe and he wondered why he was here, fighting someone else’s battle.

 

He knew why. Where else would Arthur return to other than a battlefield? So he signed up, so he trained. Gwaine would be impressed with how his skills improved. Gwaine would also hate guns; they’re not the same as swords.

 

They made killing so easy. It was always easy for him, but now everyone could take a life in barely a second. And they didn’t have to be close. They could shoot a distant figure and never know if it hit. Never know the face of the soldier who fell.

 

He made sure to know. The ones he killed, his friends who were killed.

 

He wanted to save them, but for some it was all he could do to make sure they didn’t die alone.

 

***

 

He sat in a theatre, watching the cartoon character meant to be him. So much of it was wrong, but he smiled anyway. Arthur would hate how he was portrayed. It made the movie better.

 

The world had become so loud, so cramped. He couldn’t see the stars where he lived. He couldn’t hear himself think. He couldn’t hear any of his friends’ voices or even remember their faces.

 

He knew Arthur would return, but he didn’t know when or where. Maybe he never would. Kilgharrah had been wrong many times before. Maybe he was the only immortal one. Maybe Arthur was just another man who had met his end in battle. A man turned to dust and lost to time.

 

He no longer tried to be social. Didn’t care if people thought he was an idiot or a genius. Nobody believed in magic, anyway. Nobody believed in him.

 

He kept to himself and they left him alone.

 

***

 

The cave was cold, slightly biting. Only his face was open to the air, bearing the brunt of the sharp wind. He was numb and in pain, but also warm inside, at peace.

 

His feet dangled over the water. It was frozen and delicate. If he fell, he would break through and probably catch hypothermia. He wondered vaguely if it would kill him.

 

Through the jagged entrance of the cave, blue moonlight filtered in, turning green and grey and purple as it reflected through the ice. He wondered if there was any rock beneath the frosty crust, or if the entire cave was ice, formed over centuries. If he cared enough, could he melt it away with a thought?

 

He could see the stars here, with no pollution to block them. They winked at him, painting pictures and reminding him of stories long gone. They told of dragons and monsters, witches and kings.

 

They told of great knights and epic quests. The stuff of fantasy, the stuff of legends.

 

They told of his friends. His family.

 

The wind whispered with the sound of laughter and cries, of cheers and screams. It was all he could hear, there at the top of the world.

 

He had stars and snow, wind and water. That was all he had.

 

Because he was alone.

 


End file.
